The Cries from the Barricade
by demifics
Summary: Short and unrelated one-shots of PJO Les Mis AUs. No continuity, and mostly just pain and angst. Why people asked for this, I'll never know. (Higher rating for mentions of blood, death, alcohol, PTSD, and abuse, mostly in later works)
1. I Can Hear Them Sing

The Les Mis AU an anon asked for. I'm sorry. (The rating is a little higher for the one posted right after this. Mentions of death, blood, and PTSD

* * *

Annabeth was the first thing Percy saw each morning when he woke.

She smoothed his hair and held him close, whispering that she's there, pressing kisses to his forehead. She sat with him until he was fully conscious, calmer now that he'd been shaken awake, the ringing fading from his ears.

Percy always thought Annabeth was an angel. A gift sent from god, something far too good for him. She proved it to him constantly, sitting by his bed reading as he recovered and waking him from his nightmares.

She was constant, she was steady. He needed her amid all of the pain and confusion. She helped him fill the holes inside of him, giving him part of her heart to put in the empty void where his used to beat. Beating out the rhythm of a drum, the pace of their steps, their song as shots rained down—

Annabeth's smile warmed his soul and her laugh made him feel alive again. She was always attentive, always willing to listen to the countless stories Percy told in the dead of night, still drenched in a cold sweat from his dreams. She didn't forget him telling her about the time when Frank had accidently knocked a candle over, almost burning the building down. Or when Piper and Leo had gone on a quest to make Reyna cry with laughter.

Thinking about them hurt. It felt like he'd been shot again. But when it was too dark to see his hands in front of him, and his dreams had felt all too real, tale after tale spilled from his lips, and Annabeth had caught every one of them.

The dreams were painful, they were terrifying, but they were _something_. His friends were alive and breathing in them. Their voices rang out loudly, and the laughter sparkled in their eyes.

Until Rachel yanked the gun to her stomach.

Annabeth shook him awake, squeezing Percy's hands and promising there was no blood. Washing them for him, showing him there was no blood. There was no blood staining the sheets or his clothes. It wasn't flooding the streets or pooling in the cracks in the floorboards.

But it was. There were so many streets Percy could no longer walk down, so many places he couldn't visit. Everywhere he turned, Leo was raising a glass and Jason was laughing. Hazel shook her head and took the glass from Leo, passing it to Piper, who downed it without a second thought. Reyna glared disapprovingly, while Frank told her to let them live a little. Nico tried to convince everyone that he was old enough to help, brooding in the corner when Reyna refused to hand him a gun.

He constantly felt eyes on his back, heard jokes being made when no one was around. He could hear drunken singing and Rachel teasing him endlessly.

Percy was living half a life, anyone could see that. He was haunted by too many ghosts, held down by the weight of the universe. He was horrified that Annabeth willingly took some of the weight from him. He didn't doubt her strength, but he would never subject someone to the pain he was feeling. But after a few nights of little sleep and dreams that stole his breath, he couldn't stop himself from handing her some of it.

Annabeth took the weight with grace. With such a grace that Percy greatly regretted that she'd never met his friends. She would've fit right in with the revolutionary zeal, jumped into the debates and discussions in a heartbeat. There was no question about whether or not they would've accepted her, they would've _loved_ her. Her passion matched their fearless leader's, and she had a glare that Reyna would've been impressed by.

And at the darkest time of night, just before the sun set the world aflame, when he told her again and again that he didn't deserve her, she would keep shaking her head. Reassuring him that he was alive, that he wasn't a monster. That even if the pain was always there, it wouldn't always hurt this bad.

"How can I live when they're all dead?"

"Like this," she'd say, pressing a hand to his chest. "By keeping them alive in your heart, in your stories. All of their hopes and dreams, the revolution they were fighting for, you know of it. And you can share it"

He'd force a laugh. "Change the world? That's a lot of pressure, isn't it?"

It'd be too dark to see her expression, but he would almost hear the smile in her voice when she'd say, "Maybe, but I'll be right there with you."

In the morning, in a tangle of blankets, she'd shake him awake, and he'd hold back a scream. For a minute, the world would be stained red, but she'd wipe away and return him to the real world with a gentle kiss.


	2. Do You Permit It?

I can't believe this. I can't believe this what the hell.

 **TW for alcohol, drunkeness, violence, death, and mentions of abuse.**  
Dialogue taken from the brick itself, except for "Do you permit it?" because the Penguin version is stupid and says "If you don't mind."

Please direct all feelings of general unhappiness to fashionablyunivitedtoeverything on tumblr because this is 100% their fault.

* * *

Annabeth had accepted the fact that she might die for her country, her beliefs, for the good of everyone. She had accepted it, and had decided that it was a brave way to die. And although she knew in her heart that she could die before change came about, she had always hoped she wouldn't.

As she stood in the tavern with soldiers facing her and guns pointed at her, she knew she would never see the France she had dreamed of. None of them would see the Paris they had fought so long and hard for.

But it would come. The France they had imagined would come, and their lives were worth it. Every drop of blood spilled was worth it.

Annabeth had no weapons. She was the last one standing, and she was going down with defiance.

There was something wrong about dying without her friends beside her, but their eyes were already empty and their bodies were cooling quickly.

They would never laugh again, or sing again, or dance again. They'd never drink far too much wine and spend the next day groaning and throwing papers at each other. They wouldn't argue so loudly that people complained. Frank wouldn't have to worry about everyone and their mother's health, and Hazel wouldn't magically have anything and everything anyone needed. Piper's songs would go unsung, Leo's inventions would remain sketches for eternity. Reyna wouldn't silence the group with a glare or dazzle them with a rare smile. Nico was never going to grow up, Jason was never going to find new outrageous ways to get injured.

The world was forever safe from the hilarious disaster that was Les Amis de l'ABC.

The would would never again be able to witness the wondrous glory of Les Amis de l'ABC.

Soon she'd be joining her friends, which was only right. How could a leader live when all their followers had gone? How could _she_ live, when everyone she cared about was already dead?

The word echoed in her mind, settling at the front of her brain and chilling her to the core.

 _Dead_.

They were well and truly gone. If she couldn't avenge them, she'd join them.

* * *

Percy woke in a drunken haze, but his head was clearer than it had been in years.

He was surrounded by glasses and bottles, all empty. Once, he had promised himself he'd never pick up a bottle, the memories of his stepfather still fresh in his mind. Drunken shouting and drunken tempers, punches and slaps that had gotten Percy into boxing. Even then, he wasn't always fast enough to avoid them. _Once_ he had promised himself that. Time changed everything.

He diverted his gaze from the bodies on the ground. He didn't want to look at them long enough to know which of his friends had fallen.

Diverting his gaze was far worse than knowing who was at his feet.

There Annabeth stood, surrounded by soldiers and ready guns, her jaw set and fire blazing in her eyes.

He couldn't remember a time when she had looked more gorgeous. Her nickname was on the tip of his tongue. Athena. Goddess of wisdom, strategy, _war._ She was immortal, blinding, completely and totally untouchable. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were stained with blood, but her expression was hard.

The world came crashing down around Percy as he truly processed what was happening.

Annabeth wasn't Athena. She bled red, just like the rest of the mortals. A bullet would kill her. And was world without Annabeth a world worth living in? A world without passion, without courage, without determination, without light.

It was never even a question.

"Long live the Republic! I'm one of them." he shouted, rising to his feet.

He had never truly believed in the cause. He was too much of a cynic, too much of a pessimist. He didn't have the belief in human nature, human goodness, that the rest of them did. But he did believe in Annabeth. And he might not be willing to die for the cause, but he was willing to die for her.

"Long live the Republic!" he cried again, and boldly walked through the soldiers to Annabeth. He stared down the muskets. "Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

He turned to Annabeth, and his breath caught in his throat as she stared at him, for once, the gaze directed at him not filled with anger or frustration.

"Do you permit it?" he asked, his voice soft.

She smiled and took his hand, squeezing it tight. A smile only for him. He could die this way, smiling and holding her hand.

The smiles remained as the bullets pierced them, as their blood pooled and mingled on the floor.


End file.
